


open up your sleepy eyes (for me)

by landfill_lady, oldbooksandnutella



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: 5 Times Fic, M/M, Pre-Slash, and in the epilogue, there will be an epilogue, there will be... porn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-09 12:03:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5539292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/landfill_lady/pseuds/landfill_lady, https://archiveofourown.org/users/oldbooksandnutella/pseuds/oldbooksandnutella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for <a href="http://poesfinns.tumblr.com/post/135603034322/someone-write-a-stormpilotfinnpoe-fic-about-5">this</a> prompt, by poesfinns on tumblr: <i>5 times Poe talked to Finn while he was in a coma and didn't listen and the one time he woke up and listened.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. can't have you hidin'

**Author's Note:**

> emojidean got to this prompt before I did, and did a much better job than I probably ever could: http://archiveofourown.org/works/5537300

After the battle, once everything had wound down, Poe went to see Finn, the ex-stormtrooper who'd saved him from the maw of the First Order.

The kid was lying face-up on a medbay, as still as death, with a synthetic skin patch on his shoulder and a clunky med droid hovering anxiously nearby. He looked awful lying there, with only the shallow rise and fall of his chest giving any indication of life.

Poe cleared his throat, not exactly sure what to do in a situation like this. As a Resistance pilot, "Looks like you lost my jacket, kid," he said finally. There was no response, not that Poe'd had much hope to start with. Still, he kept talking.

"That's okay, I'm not mad at you. These things happen." He gave Finn's sleeping body his most charming grin - no dice, although the med-droid seemed to be getting a little steamy. Literally. Poe frowned, and made a mental note to ask somebody when the medical equipment had last been updated. Once he'd made sure the droid was okay, and there was no permanent damage to the med-station, Poe sighed and looked back down at Finn.

"Well, I do enjoy hearing myself talk, but there are probably... things I should be getting around to. Parties and such. I'll see you soon though, okay, buddy?"

Finn, predictably, said nothing. Poe sighed, and was stooping to reclaim his fighter helmet - he hadn't had time to get out of uniform in the mad scramble after battle - when the burbling noises of BB-8 caught his attention from the doorway. The droid seemed really agitated about something, and the General's own C-3P0 was tottering along behind it, along with a decommissioned R2 unit, so Poe followed the droids out of the cavernous, melancholy med center without much more than a backward glance.

Following the droids, Poe ducked back into the command center at a sprint - droids were faster than they looked, even an old piece of junk like C-3P0, it turned out. He was just in time to be swept up in the general pandemonium as C-3P0 explained what R2 had, and then even greater wonderment as R2-D2 actually  _showed_ them, an enormous holographic map of the galaxy, with one notable chunk missing. At Poe's side, BB-8 looked up questioningly at him, and he nodded it forward.

As the final map piece slotted into place, cheers went up around the command center, and General Organa actually cracked a smile. Poe patted BB-8's head as they rolled out of the room and back to barracks, head already pounding in anticipation for the wild night he was about to have.

_If only,_ a part of him thought, twanging with disappointment,  _Finn was going out with me._

 

 


	2. i've been waiting (all the night)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe Poe shouldn't have drunk that last bottle of Coruscanti superwhiskey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as the summary might imply, please skip this chapter if you have any problems with alcohol! i promise the rest will still make sense.

Maybe Poe shouldn't have drunk that last bottle of Coruscanti superwhiskey. It had been from the General's own stash, though, and when she'd handed him the long-necked purple bottle, eyes still wet with tears over her erstwhile ex-husband, it had seemed impolite to refuse.

Poe had always been a little intimidated by General Organa, but now he felt sorry for her. What were you supposed to say to someone in a situation like hers?  _Hey, sorry your creepy evil son turned your ex-husband into a kebab_ seemed a little inadequate. The General was strong, though - one of the strongest people he'd ever met, in or outside of the Resistance - and Poe felt confident that she'd be all right.

He was more worried about Rey, the scrappy Jakkuan scavver who'd accompanied Finn and the Wookie back to the Resistance. She and Finn had meant a lot to each other, apparently, and there was a blankness behind her eyes since his coma that Poe didn't like the looks of. But they'd just successfully destroyed the Starkiller, and tonight, Poe didn't want to worry. Tonight, he wanted to  _celebrate._

The rest of the X-wing pilots had dragged him out for a night on the town, and mood-altering substances had been flowing freely all over the base, especially for those who had actually been part of the action. Poe had received so many free drinks and drunken slaps on the back, from people who didn't even know him aside from the bright orange of his flight suit, that he'd almost lost count.

At some point, after D'Qar's suns had set and the raucous partying had transferred out into the streets, Poe had lost track of the rest of the pilots. He was pretty sure he'd seen Snap and Jess making out blurrily against a wall somewhere, and decided not to bother them. Poe Dameron was a grown man, he could handle himself (probably).

It was around this time that General Organa had approached him, with her damp eyes and her strong face and her clinking bottles.

"You know," she'd said wistfully, staring at Poe, "you remind me a lot of Ben sometimes, Poe."

"Thanks," Poe slurred, although that didn't strike him as much of a compliment.  _I remind you of the pathetic Order shitstain who stabbed your ex like a marshmallow? Gee, thanks._ He was still sober enough to hold his tongue, though, and the General had given him a small, strained smile, pressed the bottle of superwhiskey into his hands, and disappeared off into the night.

Poe hadn't even gotten through a quarter of the bottle before the world started swimming before his eyes, so he'd made the executive decision to locate the closest building and sit down for a while.

As luck would have it, the closest building turned out to be Finn's current resting spot. Poe had no precise idea of why or how he'd made his fumbling, drunken way back to the med center, but here he was, standing wobblingly before his comatose friend. 

He'd forgotten to bring a chair over from the reception area, so Poe ended up sprawled on the floor next to the medbay where Finn laid, clutching his bottle with one hand and fending off a concerned med-droid with the other. The droid gave up on him eventually, and scuttled back to its everyday duties, which relieved Poe but somehow made the silence of the center feel even more lonely.

"Hey, man," he said, more to focus the pounding in his head than out of any futile hope that Finn could actually hear him. "See, I told you I'd be back, huh? Poe Dameron keeps his word." Poe scratched his head. "Mostly."

Was it his imagination, or had the droid just snorted at him? 

"Okay, sometimes," Poe conceded. "I don't lie about the big stuff, though. The important stuff. Mom taught me that pretty early."

Poe drunkenly wondered if that was insensitive - mentioning his family, considering Finn had never had one. Then he remembered Finn was unconscious.

"You missed some pretty damn great parties tonight, man," Poe continued, rubbing one hand absently over Finn's shoulder. "Seriously, I am fucking  _out_ of it. I wish you could have come out with us, Finn, we coulda showed you a good time," Poe slurred. "There is so much alcohol on this base, seriously.  _So much."_

A sudden thought struck Poe, and he frowned contemplatively.

"Do stormtroopers have alcohol? Have you even ever been drunk? I don't know, you're the first one I've ever talked to and not shot at- Anyways, you could here, if you wanted. Hell, you're a war hero now, people will be throwing beers at you once you wake up. I could take you out on the town, it'll be great. It's okay if you don't want to drink, though, I mean, that's cool. Snap doesn't; his dad had... issues, so he sticks to juice and stuff."

Poe winced. "I shouldn't have told you that. About Snap. But you aren't gonna remember this when you wake up, are you?"

_If he wakes up_ , some traitorous part of Finn's brain thought, but he pushed it down firmly.

"Anyways, I can tell you some more about Jess and Snap and the rest of them, if you want. I just..."

Poe was unable to finish the thought as sleep pulled him suddenly, inexorably into its clutches. The last memory he had of his drunken night was the sudden and surprising knowledge that his right hand had, somehow, found its way into Finn's dangling left. They slept that way, hand in hand, both smiling faintly, until Poe woke up the next morning with a groan and the worst hangover this side of the galaxy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't know how many suns d'qar has, or what alcohol/other mind-altering substances are like in the star wars universe, so i've taken a bit of artistic license on this one. if you have more knowledge, please leave it in the comments section!


	3. people waiting for the light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> poe dameron? more like p- _oh damn, son_

The third time Poe found himself standing in front of Finn's medbay (discounting the morning after his night of depravity, which hadn't even been _standing_ as much as hungover wobbling towards the nearest trashbin) was late the next afternoon. The time in between was the longest he'd gone without seeing Finn since accompanying his transport to the med center, but Poe had spent the day sleeping off his hangover, which he figured was as good an excuse as any.

The morning had been busy. Rey, the scavenger, had left with the General's Wookie friend to go look for Skywalker, looking brave and excited in her new Resistance duds, but reluctant to leave her comatose friend behind. At least, Poe  _hoped_ that Rey was just Finn's friend. He didn't think he could take on a full-blown Jedi as a romantic rival and live to tell the tale.

Anyways, Poe wasn't sure he'd be a serious contender in any case. Sure, Finn seemed to like him fine, but that didn't always translate into romantic attraction. Poe wasn't even sure Finn was attracted to men. Were Stormtroopers _allowed_ to be gay, or bi, or polysexual like Poe himself? Probably not.

Poe sighed and rubbed his forehead, looking down at Finn's peaceful face. They were friends, he was pretty sure of it, and they would stay friends, whether or not Finn was interested in dating guys, whether or not he was interested in dating  _Poe._  And that was what mattered, really. Poe could deal with not having Finn in his bed, as long as he still had Finn in his life.

Lost in thought, Poe almost didn't notice the rapid-fire burbling coming from his lower left. After a couple of minutes, BB-8 resorted to bumping into his leg to get his attention. The droid had asked Poe to take it along today: somehow, BB-8 had become as attached to Finn during their brief period of acquaintance as Finn had. Poe secretly suspected that BB-8 had a bit of a crush, which was funnier and easier than thinking about his own.

"What's the matter, buddy?" Poe asked, and BB-8 tilted its head to the side, as the droid often did when it thought Poe was being particularly stupid. Then it glanced between Poe and the medbay a couple of times.  _Can't see_ , it burbled in binary.

"Oh, sorry," Poe said, realizing: BB-8 was just slightly too short to see over the side of the bay. "Want me to pick you up?"

The droid nodded happily, and Poe did so, wincing and puffing at the weight.

"You know, you're a lot heavier than you look, BB," he said, which would normally have earned him some kind of offended comment from the droid, but BB-8 wasn't listening. Instead, the droid was scanning Finn intently, looking back and forth from head to toe like BB-8 might be able to fix him with enough concentration. After a minute or so, the droid looked up at Poe before drooping its head in dejection, and Poe lowered it gently to the floor.

_Finn's asleep. Bad,_ BB-8 burbled despondently.

"Hey, it's all right, buddy," Poe said reassuringly. "He'll be up soon." He wasn't sure who he was trying to convince more: the droid or himself.

BB-8 seemed satisfied by Poe's platitudes, though, and bobbed its head vigorously.  _Where is jacket?_ it asked.  _Finn likes jacket._

Poe scrunched his forehead and tried to think back to his first hair-raising trip to the med center, when he'd run the whole way alongside Finn's prone form and refused to leave until he was stabilized.

"I think one of the droids dropped it in the trash. It was pretty beat up, BB-" he said, trying to warn the droid off, but BB-8 had finally rolled off, chirping questions to various droids as it went. In two minutes or so, it was back, gripping a tattered pile of brown leather in its arm attachment.

"Even a bacta tank couldn't fix that, buddy," Poe said distractedly, gazing at Finn's face for any flicker of consciousness, but the droid chirped reprovingly at him and dropped the fabric into his arms.  _Finn likes jacket. Can you fix it?_ Poe held the fabric up in front of him, assessing. It wasn't as bad as he had first thought: the jacket was sliced cleanly in two through the back, and there was a palm-sized burnt patch over the right shoulder, but aside from that, Poe's jacket looked pretty much as it always had. 

BB-8 gave him a hopeful look, and Poe gave the droid a put-upon sigh in return as he folded the scraps of jacket up carefully.

"Fine, I'll give it a shot. I can't promise anything though, buddy. I'm  _really bad_ at sewing."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please poe, everybody knows finn has the hots for you except for you  
> also, for some reason the headcanon of poe being really bad at sewing but doing it anyways because he can't accept defeat just popped into my head and now i'm rolling with it


	4. night was long (and night was cold)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At least Poe's hopeless jacket refurbishment project gave him something to do over the next couple of days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> help i don't have a copy of the novelization and i need some damn PILOT NAMES

At least Poe's hopeless jacket refurbishment project gave him something to do over the next couple of days. In the aftermath of the Starkiller's destruction, most Resistance operations had been put on indefinite hold; the General (accurately) assumed that the First Order would react with increased ruthlessness in battle, and she seemed reluctant to lose any more operatives until they knew the new lay of the land. Assignments at the moment were mostly limited to base defense and intel gathering, neither of which were Poe's area of expertise.

The sewing helped to take the edge off the boredom. Poe was always happier with something to be righteously angry at, even if the something in question was just a pile of singed leather. One thing he hadn't expected was how kriffing difficult it had been to find the supplies: most of the clothing on the base was recycled as soon as it got damaged, so not much existed in the way of repair supplies. Eventually, he'd had to ask Snap, who was the closest thing the pilot corps had to an arts-'n-crafts man.

"Dude," Snap had said, staring down at the tattered pieces of jacket, "that thing is  _dead._ What do you think I am, a Jedi?"

"I know," Poe had said, grimacing. "Thanks for the help, man."

Snap had shrugged, hands open. "I call 'em like I see 'em, Poe."

"I don't want you to fix it, anyways. Just wanted to see if you had any needles and thread."

Snap hadn't, as it turned out, so Poe'd had to make do with a skein of thin red yarn and a large surgery needle purloined from the med center. The first couple of efforts with these had been frustrating, to say the least. Sewing was much harder than Poe remembered from his limited childhood experience on Yavin-4, and by the end of the first day, his fingers had been red from exertion and poked through with holes.

Sewing also required  _focus_ , which Poe had a short enough supply of at the best of times. It didn't help matters that, wherever he sat down and tried to work, people kept  _talking_ to Poe. Normally, Poe loved sitting around and shooting the shit with whoever happened to pass by, but by the second failed day of sewing attempts, he was starting to get seriously annoyed. 

"Wow," Jess Testor said, sitting down next to him after the latest flirtatious officer had finally given up. "Is it just me, or are even more people hitting on you than normal?" Poe groaned.

"It's the needle and thread," Snap said, coming to sit on his other side so that Poe was sandwiched in between his pilot friends. "Ladies like a man who's in touch with his crafty side."

"Doesn't seem to be doing you much good," Jess retorted, smirking at him over Poe's head, and Snap stuck his tongue out at her.

"Says my most reliable booty call."

"What? I am not your  _booty call,_ Snap. If anything, you're the one getting used for sex!"

"Please, guys," Poe said, abandoning his half-hearted stitching to rest his head in his hands. "I'm having a bad enough day already. This is _really_ not the time to tell me about your disgusting sex life."

"Go somewhere quiet," Snap suggested, flinging an arm apologetically over Poe's shoulder as Poe frowned down at his erstwhile jacket. So Poe gathered up his meager supplies, and went to the one place he could think of where he wouldn't be interrupted.

The med-center wasn't foreboding, exactly; it was just that almost nobody went there of their own free will. Rumor had it that, if you visited the center four times in a row with no medical cause, you'd be stuck in bed for a month with a nasty case of swamp fever. Poe hadn't been inside since last week's visits to Finn, less because of superstition (he secretly suspected that Jess had started the swamp fever rumor as a practical joke) and more because the more he looked at his sleeping friend's face, the less sure he felt that Finn was ever going to wake up.

 Someone had pulled a chair over to the side of Finn's cot sometime in the past week, and Poe sat down heavily in it, eyes fixed on Finn's unmoving face.

"Hey, buddy," he said inanely, balling his jacket up in his hands. "How's it going?"

Finn, predictably, did not respond.

The same med-droid Poe had grown accustomed to running into by Finn's bedside drifted up beside him, and Poe nodded his head at it tersely.

"How's he doing?" he said, gesturing at Finn.

 _Patient is in stable condition,_ the droid beeped at him.

"Yeah, I know that. When will he wake up?"

_Patient is in stable condition._

Poe bit back a hopeless laugh, and waved the droid away before he did something stupid, like throw a boot at it.

"You know, I don't really like that guy," he told Finn conversationally as he spread the jacket out across his knees, doing his best to untangle the needle and string. "Which is weird, 'cause I'm usually pretty good with droids."

Almost without thinking, Poe kept chattering inanely to Finn's prone form as he finished untangling the string and began to sew. By the time he looked up again, the suns had gone down, half of the jacket was sewn back together, and Poe felt peacefully tired in a way he hadn't in quite a while.

 

**Author's Note:**

> title from "wake up sunshine" by chicago.


End file.
